


someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch

by amaronith



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Bruce Wayne Has a lot of issues, Friendships abound!, Gen, Good Job Bruce, M/M, TEAM AS FAMILY!, and instead of working on those issues he helps other people with theirs, persistent but unacknowledged pre-slash between Bruce and Clark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaronith/pseuds/amaronith
Summary: It was the touching that got to Bruce.





	someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts).



> This is for susiecarter because I am constantly flailing fangirlishly at her and I appreciate that she joins me in that. Thank you!
> 
> Also my brain decided that Barry is a sad bean and I thought she might like a fic about fixing that.
> 
> The title is from Bruce Springsteen's "Human Touch", because I think I am very clever and also couldn't think of a better title.

Bruce told himself that using the ruins of the old Manor as the bones for the Hall of Justice (a name that would sound trite from anyone besides Clark or Diana—he’s tried to say it, but out of his mouth the words only became twisted and tainted, and he's never tried again) was the best thing he could’ve done. How this way he could ensure that they'd always have a place, no matter what happened to him (he had already worked with Alfred and his lawyer about altering his will).

He sought out these people to join him, to work with him (to fix his mistake—), and now that Clark was back everything—

Well, it wouldn't be _fine_ , that was why the League was formed in the first place, but it would be better now.

Batman worked alone, for the most part, but that didn't mean the others had to.

So he told himself that this was healing (and it was, _it was_ , it wasn't anyone else's fault that Bruce picked and picked at old wounds so they couldn't heal properly…) and that having the others around and in his space was a good thing.

He just had to get used to it, was all.

But as much as Bruce craved being alone, he had to admit it was… nice. To be able to come upstairs from the Cave and find that Diana was having tea in the dining room with Alfred and, oh look, there was more than enough for Bruce to have a cup with them before he went to bed, and Diana brought pastries from that patisserie she liked in Paris, how wonderful.

Or he would come down in the morning to bump into Clark at the breakfast bar, having a cup of coffee before work “—and I had to come here, because I’ve been officially spoiled for all other coffee, Alfred.”

“Of course, Mister Kent,” Alfred would reply, and continue to make pancakes.

And Bruce's plate was being kept warm in the oven for him.

(Bruce liked having Clark in his space, liked there being a Clark to _be_ in his space, how seeing Clark in the mornings made Bruce want him to be there at night, to be there for Bruce to wake up to, to let Bruce hold him close and—)

It was nice, talking with Victor about his thoughts on how to improve the security around the Hall, and it was nice to hear the pleased noises Alfred would make when Arthur brought some truly beautifully fresh fish for team dinners, and Alfred's equally distressed noises as Arthur drank what was probably far too expensive wine right from the bottle (something, Bruce was sure, that Arthur did because Alfred's distressed noises were _hilarious_ when he didn't really mean them).

And Barry… Barry was around _all the time_ , which wasn't really a fair statement—Barry wasn't always around all the time, but when he was, he tended to fill the space with movement and sound and touching.

It was the touching that got to Bruce. Mostly because it was so _strange_ , just quick touches to his shoulder, or his back. Fast and light and nothing that Bruce would consider displaying any sort of sexual interest, but definitely something that Barry wasn't thinking about until he was thinking about it and thought he shouldn't have it.

And the more Bruce thought about it, the more it bothered him.

“Clark,” Bruce said, low and quiet because he didn't want to draw attention to this, even as he kept his eyes on Barry as he talked to Diana and Victor and giggled nervously around Arthur.

Clark, thankfully, didn't look at Bruce, and merely leaned against the wall next to him. “Yes?”

“You're the only one who’d pick it up—has Barry been… touching people?”

“You mean like inappropriately, or…?”

“No! Barry would never, not even using his speed,” Bruce side eyed Clark with a frown. “I mean fingertips on their shoulders or backs.”

Clark nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve seen it—he’s done it to me, too. I think Diana has noticed as well, but probably not Victor, definitely not Arthur.”

Bruce frowned. “I want to talk to the others about it. But not Barry—if it's what I think it is, my bringing it up in a full meeting would only embarrass him.”

Clark nodded again, barely perceptible. “I’ll let the others know.”

Bruce nodded back, keeping his gaze on Barry as he frowned.

And so what if he worried about Barry a lot. Barry seemed so _young_ compared to the rest of them (anyone would be young compared to Diana. _He_ was young compared to Diana. That wasn’t the _point_ ), he seemed more like a little brother, or a nephew Bruce was particularly fond of. 

(Not as a son, worrying about Barry as a son was a death sentence and he _couldn’t_ —)

The point was that Bruce worried, and all Clark had to do was point out the time and Barry was off and running, literally, back home because of some thing or another.

“I’ll see you guys later!”

A touch to Bruce's shoulder, there and gone in the same instant Barry was.

Bruce pushed himself up off the wall and walked forward. “Before anyone else leaves, I want to discuss something.”

“About Barry,” Victor said softly.

Bruce nodded. “I…” he paused, thinking about how he wanted to say it. “Have some concerns.”

“We’re not kicking him off the team,” Arthur said fiercely, and Bruce shook his head.

“No, absolutely not. But it's about his behaviour.”

Diana arched an eyebrow, and frowned. “The touching.”

Bruce nodded, and turned to Clark.

“I’ve seen him do it to almost all of us,” Clark said. “Bruce has felt it, as have I—Diana, you obviously noticed.”

She nodded. “I wasn't aware it was something to be concerned about.”

“I always figured when he did it to me it was because of curiosity, if it was anything,” Victor said softly.

“He doesn't touch me at all,” Arthur frowned, and if Bruce didn't know better, he would swear the man seemed to feel left out about that fact.

Bruce rubbed at his temple. “I’m worried that Barry is touched-starved.”

Diana frowned. “Touch-starved?”

“He hasn't had a lot of positive, if any, human contact,” Victor said, a far-away look in his eye that meant he was looking something up. “Humans are social creatures. They need physical contact with one another—positive physical contact.”

Bruce nodded. “When I recruited Barry for the League, he joined because he said that it would be nice to have friends.” And Bruce would call them his friends, just not in public, but that was more of a 'secret identity’ thing and less of a 'they’re a constant embarrassment’ thing, even though when they wanted to be, the others absolutely were a constant embarrassment.

“And he doesn't know how to have friends?” Arthur had a hand curled into a fist, but seemed to settle when Diana placed a hand on his arm, but only just.

“Not the way most others would,” Bruce said with a shrug. “People are complicated.”

Victor looked up. “And it's hard to make friends, growing up defending your dad regarding your mom’s murder, and how the only person you really want any contact with you're only allowed to see through plate glass, and need a phone to hear each other.” He looked uncomfortable. “I—Barry's my friend. We talk about stuff sometimes.”

“And Barry speaks so much, there's as much to hear in what he _doesn't_ say as there is in what he does.” Diana smiled. “I have similar sisters on Themyscira.”

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I think it is safe to say we all care about Barry. If he's got this… touch starvation, how do we fix it? Do we wait for him to ask—?”

“He won't ask.” Bruce looked at all of them. “That's part of the problem. I don't think he knows _how_ to ask for something like this.”

“So we just have to make the first move,” Arthur said, crossing his arms. “If we touch him first, he’ll know it's okay, and be more comfortable with asking for what he needs. Right?”

Diana looked at everyone. “Are we in agreement that this is how we should solve the problem? Victor?”

Victor shifted awkwardly before straightening his back. “I can do it for Barry.”

Bruce nodded. “Excellent.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow as he looked at Bruce. “Can _you_ even do it, Bruce?”

Bruce was expecting some sort of comment like that, but it still caught him wrong footed. “I, what? Of course I can. I can hug someone.”

_Could_ he hug someone?

“Without spraining something?” Arthur continued, and Clark shook his head.

“If Bruce says he can do it, he can,” Clark said, resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

A shiver ran through Bruce’s body, and it was only his iron tight control over himself that kept Bruce from leaning into Clark, from letting his eyes fall shut as he relished in the touch.

So _maybe_ he was a little touch starved himself, that didn't matter—Barry was much worse off than Bruce was. Bruce had plenty of other avenues of getting positive, affectionate touching for himself than Barry did. 

But he would allow himself this—this _luxury_ of affectionate touching from his teammates—if it meant that Barry would be okay. And if Bruce got any benefit from it, it could only be useful.

Arthur clapped his hands before rubbing them together, pulling everyone's attention to him. “Okay then. Since we all agree on what to do, let's do it. Operation: Touch Barry, or whatever.”

Victor laughed. “Don't—don't put it like that, man. You make it sound like it’s a build up to an orgy, or something.”

Bruce didn't allow himself even a second to dwell on that. Diana, however, was looking curious and Clark’s ears were going pink at the tips.

Arthur looked contemplative. “I mean, we’re all pretty good looking.”

“If we had an orgy, the combined hotness would destroy the planet,” Victor said, voice flat. “I did the math.”

“Well, there goes that plan, I guess.”

Bruce allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose to let the pressure stave off the oncoming headache as Clark snickered next to him.

\---

It was, unsurprisingly, the easiest for Clark. Clark had no problem reaching out to grip Barry's shoulder, which eased into an arm around Barry's shoulders in a half hug as they laughed together and came up with new and more ridiculous ways to test their speed. The relationship seemed brotherly, from what Bruce understood of fraternal relationships.

(Bruce observed his mild jealousy, and filed it away to be examined at another time. He wasn’t ignoring the problem, exactly, but it wasn’t a priority at the moment. This wasn’t about him.)

It was also easy for, strangely enough, Diana. She would run her fingers through Barry's hair almost maternally, and their entire relationship outside the League seemed to be centered around _food_. Then Clark mentioned the Smallville town fair and “everything's deep fried, I swear—” and everyone apparently ended up going except Bruce.

(Victor went, but he stayed with Mrs. Kent at the farm, balking at the last minute of being seen in public outside of League business. Mrs. Kent had apparently had him help with some chores and had him set the clock on her 'new fangled fancy coffee pot, I swear Victor if that blasted thing blinks twelve at me one more time I’m going to smash it and blame it on the cows’ and then sent him home with several containers of pie.

“What kind of pie?”

“All the pie. I don't know, guys, I was there the whole time and then suddenly pies!”

“Yeah, Mom can be like that,” Clark said fondly.)

Bruce had important work to do, and he couldn't afford to be seen at a town fair. He had a secret identity to maintain, after all.

(He was left a wax paper bag full of deep fried Oreos and a deep fried Snickers bar on a stick like some kind of offering, hot enough that it had to be from either Clark or Barry.

“What in heaven’s name is that?” Alfred asked, peering into the bag and wrinkling his nose.

“Deep fried things on a stick. Either Clark or Barry brought those from the Smallville fair.”

“It looks absolutely revolting.”

Bruce grinned at his computer screen. “So you don’t want any?”

“Bite your tongue, Master Bruce; I’ll get the plates.”)

Victor and Barry had come up with some complicated handshake that ended in a hug that Bruce had memorized the first time they did it unthinkingly in front of him, but pretended to be baffled by because he knew how kids got sometimes when 'old people’ thought their 'thing’ was adorable and charming.

He had to remind himself that they weren't children - even though they were the two youngest members of the team. Barry and Victor were—or, in Victor’s case, _should be_ —in college, nevermind that they had saved the world at least once already.

“Put _that_ on your grad school application,” Bruce muttered once, getting a particularly nasty head wound treated by Alfred as Barry chewed on the end of his pen while he did his homework.

“You think I can get into grad school?”

Bruce frowned at Barry. Or, at least, the blurry shape of Barry. Was he using the Speed Force? “Do you need help getting in? It can't be your grades, your grades are amazing. Is it money? Are you worried about affording grad school?”

“Right now I am worried that you know more about my grades than I do, actually—“

Bruce pointed at the middle blurry image of Barry. “I will pay for you to go to grad school as long as you keep up that 4.0.”

“I have a 4.0?” Barry asked, dazed, as Clark had cut in front of him, amused.

“How about we get you to bed, Bruce, and we can talk about Barry's scholastic future when you don't have a concussion, hm?” Clark said as he slung the arm Bruce _hadn't_ dislocated earlier that night over his shoulders to help him up.

“I have a 4.0…”

As for Arthur’s method, Bruce had found that out accidentally.

(And it _had_ been an accident - he wasn't _spying_ on them, there just _happened_ to be a shadow-y enclave that he _happened_ to be in at the time, that he stayed in once he realized what was happening.)

It was after a League meeting when Arthur asked Barry to wait up, and Barry had chuckled nervously but complied.

“Are you busy?” Arthur asked, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans.

From where Bruce was hidden, he could see Barry hunch his shoulders, eyes looking everywhere but Arthur. “Busy? I mean, not particularly busy, I mean I’m free right now, but there are things I could be doing but don't really need to be done right at this very moment. Like I have a load of laundry I should probably work on because I’ve been wearing the same jeans for two days but that’s not so bad one time I wore the same pair of jeans for, like, a week, but finding quarters is really hard sometimes and—”

Arthur rolled his eyes so hard it was a full body motion. “ _Barry_.” The name came out more of a growl than anything else.

Barry jolted, his mouth shutting with an audible _click_. “Yes?”

“Yes or no, are you busy right now?”

Barry blinked at Arthur. “No.”

Bruce, watching from the shadows where he was definitely not spying on them, tensed. Barry was a superhero in his own right, and he could handle the situation if it turned bad just fine. But if Barry needed help, if Arthur took this in the direction Bruce was worried about it going… well, Bruce was ready.

It wasn’t that Bruce thought Arthur would—the man did have _morals_ after all. It was just that Barry was young, and didn't understand people, and Arthur seemed like the type to break hearts carelessly. Bruce just wanted to spare Barry from that, to avoid awkwardness in the team.

That was all.

“You're scared of me, huh?” Arthur said, his voice low and soft as he stepped toward Barry, and Barry began to step back.

“What? No! No, no, no—I’m not _scared_ of you, that's ridiculous. I mean, not that you aren't scary sometimes, because you totally are, but that's only to bad guys and I’m not a bad guy so I’m not worried about it, right? It's just that you're also kind of intimidating, which, I mean, I’m just easily intimidated by attractive men. And women. People who are attractive in general are just really intimidating and—” Barry cut himself off as his back hit the wall, and Arthur crowded in close to him.

“So you find me attractive?”

“Arthur, c’mon. I have a _pulse_ ,” Barry said flatly, lifting his chin. 

Bruce couldn't see it, but he knew Arthur was grinning. “Good.”

“Good?”

Arthur lifted a hand to cradle Barry's jaw, his thumb stroking along Barry's cheekbone, and the little shuddering breath Barry took seemed too loud in the quiet room. “Good. Unless I’m reading this wrong?”

“Wrong?” Barry asked, his voice soft and almost dreamlike now as he leaned into Arthur’s touch.

Arthur’s hand shifted, and he pressed his thumb to Barry's lower lip. “I want you, you want me… I figure we could have a good time together. But only if you want that, too. If all you want is to hit up some all-you-can-eat places with me, that's cool too.”

Barry let out a soft moan. “ _Arthur_...”

Arthur’s hand slid back to Barry's jaw. “Well, what’s the verdict? Can I kiss you?”

“ _Hell yes_ ,” Barry breathed, and rose up on his toes to press his mouth to Arthur’s, and Bruce felt weirdly proud that Barry was being assertive and not letting Arthur control the entire situation, but this, he told himself, was the perfect time to slip out of his hiding spot and leave them to their business.

Bruce silently made his way out of his hiding spot and up the steps away from them, but as he silently hurried along the balcony walkway, he found himself caught by Arthur’s electric blue gaze. Barry was whimpering in Arthur’s arms, seemingly oblivious to Bruce's presence. Bruce gave Arthur a nod, as though nothing was unusual or unexpected about the situation, before he continued on his way.

Later, Clark would come by as Bruce worked, resting a hand between his shoulder blades as he leaned over Bruce's shoulder. “Is that Barry and Arthur?”

“Mm.” Bruce ignored the electric thrill that spread out from where Clark's hand rested as he frowned at the footage of the two that had been caught on one of the cameras viewing the outside of the property, walking casually with their fingers laced together. 

Bruce hadn't thought Arthur would be the type.

“Hey, have you eaten yet?” Clark was grinning at Bruce with a wide smile that made Bruce want to turn Clark down on principle.

“...I haven't gotten the chance to, yet. Why?”

“I found a great little place—a real hole in the wall—with the best Spaghetti Bolognese I’ve ever tasted. Come have dinner with me.”

He should say no. Bruce Wayne couldn't be seen with Clark Kent.

Except…

“Sure. Let's go.”

If he thought Clark's smile was wide before, it was nothing compared to this one, sunshine bright and so full of fond affection Bruce couldn't keep looking at him.

\--

Time went on, and the Plan seemed to be working.

Except with Bruce.

Surprising no one, least of all himself, Bruce was having the most difficulty. Nothing he did would seem casual enough— _normal_ enough—to not draw Barry’s suspicions while at the same time giving Barry what he needed.

Then a paramilitary organization took control of a small town, and Barry got his leg broken.

More accurately, Barry got his leg impaled in such a way that it snapped his tibia, and no one was willing to try anything until they got back to the cave, where there was a clean room, and proper tools, and a much lower chance of Barry's body trying to heal around shrapnel that they couldn't get out, and Alfred. Mostly Alfred.

Clark, Diana, and Arthur helped Bruce get him back into the Flying Fox as Victor got it started up. Bruce kept Barry at his side with Clark next to him on his other side, keeping a hand on Bruce's shoulder as Bruce held Barry steady.

“Bruce—” Barry let out a choked off whimper as he shifted, and Bruce gripped Barry's shoulder. “It _hurts_.”

“Hey, hey, you're going to be fine,” Bruce murmured softly, petting Barry's hair and rubbing his back. “We'll get you home, and it’ll be okay. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.”

He kept up the litany as they landed, and they carefully brought him into the Cave, with Bruce’s private doctors already waiting.

“You seem to have gotten yourself into quite the predicament, Mister Allen,” Alfred said, his voice dry. “I’ll be doing repairs while you're recovering.”

“S-sorry, Alfred,” Barry stammered out,as he was moved onto a gourney. “I—“

“Nonsense, dear boy. You have nothing to apologise for.” Alfred rested a hand on his uninjured leg. “I am always happy to look after family.”

Bruce turned around and left.

\--

According to the doctors, Barry's surgery hadn't been difficult so much as it had been, in their words, 'persnickety’—there was the constant monitoring and careful re-upping of the anesthesia as Barry's enhanced metabolism processed it too fast, making sure there wasn't any shrapnel to cut out as his leg started to heal _around_ the debris in his leg, and making sure the bones were set properly so they could heal without needing to rebreak his leg.

“In a sense, Mister Allen's body is fighting us as hard as we are trying to save it,” the doctor had said to Clark.

Not that Bruce needed to be told any of this—there was a camera in the operating room, the feed pulled up on the lower right monitor in the Cave.

Clark came in after him at one point, saying nothing as he sat there next to Bruce, watching him work.

“He’s going to be fine, Bruce,” Clark finally said, breaking the silence.

Bruce allowed himself one glance at Clark out of the corner of his eye. “I know.”

“He’ll want to see you when he’s out of surgery.”

“I’ve got work to do.” Actual Wayne Enterprises work, even, that absolutely could not go another moment without Bruce’s attention.

“Bruce— ”

“I’ll check in on him later, Clark.”

Clark let out a soft sigh and tapped the back of his hand gently against Bruce’s shoulder twice. “Make sure of it, or I’ll ask Diana to drag you over.”

Bruce let out a soft huff of air that Clark seemed to take as agreement, because it earned him another tap of Clark’s fingers before Clark left Bruce to his work.

And as Bruce worked, he watched that little corner of his screen as Barry woke up and asked for pizza.

\--

In the end, X-rays showed that Barry's leg pretty much healed up perfectly as he devoured several large pizzas and about three gallons of sweet tea Clark brought from Kansas (at his mother's insistence, supposedly).

Barry left the recovery room, Arthur’s arm securely around his waist, and Bruce closed the little window in the corner of the screen.

Which was probably why he wasn't expecting Barry to be suddenly sitting next to him on the console, feet swinging slowly.

Bruce, of course, kept himself from reacting in any way except “Should you be using the Speed Force so soon?”

“Yup. I just can't overdo it, so no combat stuff for another day or so until they're sure everything's fine.” Barry picked at the fraying hem of his hoodie and Bruce made a mental note to have Alfred buy him another one. “Bruce,” Barry said suddenly, not looking at him. “Can we talk about something?”

Bruce kept his own eyes on his screen, watching the information scroll past even as alarm bells in his mind were screaming.

Barry was going to leave the team.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I just—are you okay? Because I know you're weird about some things and Alfred called me family and you're _especially_ weird about family, but, like, I consider everyone in the League family? But, um, you know? In the Fox? You said you were taking me home.”

Bruce carefully kept his face impassive. So Barry was leaving because of _Bruce_.

Somehow, that didn't make it better than his original assessment of 'leaving because he wasn't confident in himself as a hero’.

“Yes, I did.”

“And,” Barry continued, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “And, um, I don't need a father figure, you know? I have a dad, and he's a good dad, so, I mean—you don't need to be my dad, Bruce, you know that, right?”

Bruce clenched his jaw and nodded, not quite trusting his voice at the moment to respond.

Barry nudged Bruce’s knee. “But that doesn't mean we can't care about each other, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, cool. Awesome.” Barry hopped down off the desk and headed off, pausing behind Bruce's chair before he leaned over and hugged Bruce from behind, chin resting on Bruce's head. “Besides, you're more like an uncle, or the cool older brother from my dad's fictional first marriage before he married the significantly younger woman who was my mother and—”

Bruce let himself smile a little as he leaned back into the hug and reached up to clasp a hand around Barry’s wrist. “Barry.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop before you kill the metaphor.”

Barry shifted so his cheek was pressed to Bruce’s hair as he laughed. “Yeah, sorry.”

Bruce gave Barry’s wrist a gentle squeeze before letting go, and Barry’s arms slipped off as he pulled away. “Don’t worry about it. Go have your date with Arthur.”

“...it is so creepy when you do that, man.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I know.”

Barry rolled his eyes, a full body motion that swung him around toward the exit of the Cave as he walked away.

A tightness that had knotted itself in Bruce’s chest finally released, and Bruce tugged himself back over to his keyboard with a small smile on his face.

\---

Barry jogged away, looking back over his shoulder at the Batcave (shut up, Victor, that was _totally_ what it was) before speeding over to where he knew the others were hanging out. “Uh, hey, guys, can we talk about something?”

“Sure, Barry—what’s up?” Clark asked (SuperKent? Clarkman? What was the proper address when he wasn’t in full civvie mode or out in uniform?)

“I don’t think Bruce gets hugged enough,” Barry said, frowning.

He wasn’t sure what the look everyone was sharing meant, but they all just turned back to him as Clark smiled. “We know just what to do, Barry. Don’t worry about it.”

Barry frowned at his team. “...it’s even creepier when you guys do this than when _he_ does it, you know that, right?”

“We know,” the others said in unison, and Barry shook his head with a sigh.

His team was great. Weird, but great.


End file.
